In.

April 1, 2021

DEBUT Nick Moss drifts through life mystified by human interaction, which he views as a kind of choreographed dance between pretenders. His attempts at small talk with his neighbors are awkward at best; conversations with family members barely dip below surface-level pleasantries. He meets a feisty, funny oncologist named Wren, and the two seem to hit it off wonderfully--but he still feels nothing. After an unexpectedly sincere conversation with a plumber leaves him shaken and overwhelmed with emotion, Nick begins to experiment with "saying stuff that matters." Soon he begins to understand that other people have identities separate from his relationship to them--a lesson that only deepens when a family member's health falters. McPhail has a fantastic sense of the absurd (he describes a caf� as "not so much a coffee shop as it is a vision of what your life would be if you were happy") and an incredible knack for visually expressing his characters' inner lives by mixing black and white illustration with fully painted sequences that capture his protagonists' evolving emotional states. VERDICT This exploration of the isolation brought on by self-absorption is occasionally dark, but ultimately deeply moving and profound.

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March 15, 2021
Wiry young illustrator Nick is feeling the opposite of this book's title. He's out of sync in his interactions with others, and even with his own desires and experiences. Obsessed with trying to stay present in his life and with finding true communication, he yearns to speak ""words that matter"" with his mom, his sister, his new love interest, his plumber. McPhail's delicately lined graphite drawings (he's a frequent cartoonist for the New Yorker), neatly squared into comics-y frames, are playful yet full of depth. The same could be said for Nick's story, though it takes a dark turn that forces him to find what matters in a different way. When Nick achieves epiphanic moments of conversational connection, McPhail's art bursts into dreamlike, painterly, full-color panels: Nick scaling a glacier, facing a waterfall, or sitting in the audience of a surgical theater. Impressive art, a relatable hero's struggle, and a healthy dose of humor (Nick haunts establishments with names like ""Your Friends Have Kids Bar"" and ""Gentrificchiato"") will make McPhail's graphic novel debut appealing to many.

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March 29, 2021
Though snarkier and smuttier than E.M. Forster, New Yorker cartoonist McPhail’s graphic novel debut comes across as a book-length illustrated version of the Howard’s End epigraph: “Only connect!” Nick is an artist whose cringey awkwardness and roiling inner monologues (“Is this what human interaction is?”) block him from forming relationships. He compensates with personas, such as posing as a sad young artist sketching women on the train (until he discovers they find it creepy rather than cute). Even a joyful-seeming one-night stand with brash young doctor Wren is drawn in a one-page vignette as a kind of theater (with curtains and stage) to demonstrate Nick’s disconnection (“I didn’t feel anything and performed every emotion”). The narrative takes an unexpected turn when Nick suddenly decides to say something personal in a glorious scene that mixes the rapturous (a montage of fantastical lush color frames in this cool and restrained black-and-white book) with the comical (the man he’s connecting with is his plumber). But though Nick’s arc toward authenticity is well rendered, it’s too easily won, with a world willing to accommodate him the second he opens up and a convenient manic-pixie love interest. This smart if somewhat uneven character study bangs together insecure urban hipster humor with raw emotion. Agent: Esther Newberg, ICM Partners.

April 1, 2021
Cartoonist McPhail's debut graphic novel follows a youngish artist's desperate search for authenticity in a culture where true selves hide behind performative, perfunctory interactions. Professional illustrator Nick Moss isn't sad but wants to be--at least for a night. He's heard of sad men being sad in sad bars, so he tries on the role for himself, but an attractive young woman named Wren playfully calls him out on his artifice. This meet-cute leads to a fun, steamy, no-strings-attached affair, which weaves through Nick's everyday struggles to form meaningful connections to his fellow humans--strangers, neighbors, and family alike. Eventually he learns to lean into awkward encounters and finally say something that matters to the other person--transcendent moments that McPhail brings to life by fantastically transporting Nick to vibrant, inspiring vistas for the duration of these fleeting epiphanies. McPhail's art is exceptional--realistic if impressionistic settings and anatomic figures with cartoonish accents like bug eyes and overemotive gestures. The visuals are scrumptious and the yearning for personal connection is deeply relatable, but the story loses focus with observational bits about pretentious coffee shops and corporate jargon, and the central romantic relationship has a bit too much of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl dynamic to fully resonate. But even when beats feel overly familiar, McPhail presents them with style and grace, deftly moving the story along with subtle, impactful visual cues. Nick isn't an especially likable character, save for the relatability of his desires, but the eyes McPhail gives him--perfect white circles with pinprick pupils--imbue the awkward and borderline-unpleasant character with the charm of an earnest boob. What more could anyone be when faced with their place in the universe? Gorgeous navel-gazing.

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